Dangerous Liaison (Lords of Whitehall Book 2)

by Ann Chaney

  Cross glowered at him first then Gillian. “Gillian? James? What are you two talking about? Is this some newly wedded language no one else knows?”

  Gillian being closest leaned forward and whispered. “This is all an act, for the servants. Moreham is concerned our ruse will be uncovered.”

  The ever observant Sturmbridge added. “Really? Ingenious of him. You both sound like two people besotted with each other. Those sly glances at each other when you think the other isn’t watching or reaching out to touch the other. All very convincing. I must remember your tricks if I ever find myself with a marriage of convenience. That is what you have, isn’t it?”

  Hearing Cross and Sturm point out their mannerisms did make it sound as if they were rather besotted with one another. A consequence he could not allow to become a reality. Moreham ushered his friends out of the house with all haste. Their comments about his marriage and how besotted he appeared had unsettled him. It was time to have a talk with Gillian about this farce of a marriage. It would not do for her to have any ideas about a happily ever after for them.

  Chapter 8

  Moreham returned to the library to find Gillian had already left. He lingered long enough to say good night to Timmie then hurried up the stairs to have that chat with his wife. Gillian was in the sitting room waiting if her rigid posture was any indication. No doubt she wanted to talk as well.

  “I’m glad you didn’t tarry. I think we should clear the air so to speak.” She sat on the settee near the fire. She lifted her chin as if daring him to join her. Not one to allow another to dictate his actions, he feigned disinterest. He preferred to have a civil conversation with Gillian rather than a heated discourse. Besides, this was his mission, not hers.

  “We are leaving at first light in the morning. An early evening is best. We will be able to talk during the journey to Whitings.”

  Gillian started to speak but shook her head and rose from the settee. “Very well, I bid a good evening, my lord.” Her voice icy cold.

  They still had the specter of Whitney hanging from the gallows between them. He would always be the man who exposed her uncle’s crime and she would always be the lady who helped him do so.

  She was not a simpering miss. She would survive the scandal. He would see to it.

  Gillian bobbed a curtsey before leaving the room with all the elegance of Queen Charlotte. Moreham picked up his wine glass and drank the liquid in one swallow. He was such a fool. The only woman to catch his attention had just walked out the door and he’d done nothing to stop her.

  His friends would laugh hysterically if they knew he had deliberately given his wife a dislike of him. What sort of gentleman would do so?

  Hours later, Moreham tossed his pen down forcefully enough to send splatters of ink across the ledger page. His clerk would give him a censorious look when he discovered the fouled entries.

  Moreham regarded himself as a simple man. Happiest in the country, riding his horses, visiting friends he had known since he’d worn short pants. That life he’d had before the Corsican turned his sights on England. The war changed everything.

  Gillian liked the country. She said so. If he proved Whitney innocent or guilty of a lesser offense, then perhaps his wife would not hate him. Mayhap, they would be able to salvage their affection for each other. They could retire to the country together. He could keep a finger in the Home Office’s dealings when required. Couriers could ferry his correspondence to London for Cross and others to implement. Feeling much better at his new plan, Moreham made another decision.

  He was going to seduce his wife!

  Gillian made certain she said goodnight to Timmie as she headed above stairs. It would not do for the butler to see how upset she was by her husband’s behavior. She had never been exposed to such a fickle temper.

  In the barely one week since they had joined forces, Moreham had fired her anger one minute only to charm her into wanting more the next. When he looked at her with those silver-gray eyes filled with mischief and his lips quirked up to one side, she wanted to throw herself at him and beg him to make love her. They were married after all.

  She bade the cupids in the ceiling dome a good night and entered their sitting room. She had lied to Moreham to save herself from humiliation. She was not tired in the least. After watching him all during dinner, she felt more alive than she ever had in her life.

  Before she met the man, she had thought her life with her aunt and uncle was what she wanted. Now, she knew better. She wanted what the matrons whispered about behind their fans. She wanted Moreham to join her in her bed and teach her what all the fuss was about.

  “My lady, do you wish to dress for bed?” Maisy’s voice broke through her ruminations.

  At least one part of her old life was the same. Maisy had been her maid since her first season. The pair had got along well together from the beginning.

  “Yes, Maisy, perhaps we should look at Lady Sylvia’s exquisite nightrails.”

  She followed Maisy through the door into her bedchamber. The maid showed her a virginal white linen nightrail with lace sleeves. The garment’s fabric was so thin she could see her hand through the cloth.

  Gillian laughed out loud. “However, will I face my mother-in-law if I wear that?”

  “My lady, I think the true question is how will you face the earl wearing such?” Maisy asked with a naughty grin.

  She bit her tongue to keep from directing Maisy to dig out her old nightrail of heavy linen. She trusted Maisy and knew the maid would keep her secrets to herself, but she realized she didn’t want the woman to think Moreham did not love her. Maisy believed in romantic love and Gillian did not want to shatter her dreams of a happily ever after.

  “Well, Maisy, I think we should get me undressed and into that sinful excuse of a nightgown and I will find out.”

  Gillian gave herself over to Maisy’s care. When the maid curtsied and bade her good night, Gillian stood in the middle of her bedchamber wearing the wispy confection with her hair trailing down her back. Once she was alone, Gillian, closed her eyes and swayed in a slow circle. The silky fabric slid over her bare skin. Gillian wished Moreham would come to her. She wanted to feel his hands on her. No wonder her aunt had closeted her away in the country. She possessed the lusty nature of a tavern wench.

  Gillian gave the flimsy confection one last look. She was such a fool. Another reason her aunt kept her sequestered. Gillian was a dreamer. Best to dig out her old nightrail. Her old flannel gown would keep her warm which was more than her husband intended to do that night.

  She rooted through the armoire and found her nightrail then changed from the frothy bit of nothing into the flannel gown. Gillian satisfied with herself, climbed into her bed. Moreham had said nothing of them sharing a bed. May as well get used to sleeping alone.

  With her decision made to soldier on, Gillian settled back into her pillows and tried to read. The ticking of the mantel clock grew louder and louder robbing her of all concentration. Where was Moreham? Had he gone to bed without a word to her? Mayhap he was in the library plotting his strategy for their time at Whitings.

  Lost in her thoughts, Gillian jumped when her door opened. Moreham stood in the doorway. His gaze slid from her head to the foot of the bed. A tremor stole through her body as the intensity in his eyes. For an instant, she wanted to flee to her dressing room. No, she would not cower from this man. She would give as good as he took.

  “My dear, I thought we were going to share my bed as man and wife.”

  Gillian laid her book aside. “I thought your departure earlier was an indication that you were no longer interested in our time together. I’m not some dewy-eyed miss who will wait for you to make all the decisions regarding our relationship. After all, our marriage is most unusual. The rules of others do not apply to us.”

  Moreham watched her for several moments before speaking. “Nothing has to happen tonight that you do not want to have happen. While many newly wedded couples in our society
marry for reasons other than mutual love, we do have the distinction of having the question of Whitney’s possible treasonous activities. I will understand if you ask me to retire to my bedchamber to leave you in peace.”

  Part of her felt at sea with this man who exuded charm and charisma like no other gentleman she’d ever met. His warm smile and kind eyes called to her. She wanted to wrap herself around him and hold on. Moreham was her safe haven from the storm that was her uncle’s dealings.

  She made her decision to be as honest as possible with her new husband. “I would like it if we were together tonight. I would like you to hold me. I feel so alone when you are not with me. I’ve felt that way from the first, when you left me in Philly’s library. Am I infringing on your privacy to ask such of you?”

  Moreham smiled. “What a lovely invitation? Thank you. I too would love to do exactly that. I would ask that we use my bed. Are you comfortable with sharing my bed with me?”

  Gillian sighed at the back and forth of their conversation. Two people who knew little of each other but were willing to tread lightly as they worked to become familiar with each other. She knew she would come to love this man if she didn’t already. Before either of them could address the subject of love they had to learn to trust each other. Uncle Whitney stood between them for now.

  “Yes, I would love to sleep at your side. The rest can come later?”

  Moreham grinned. “Yes, I think all either of us can manage this night will be sleep. We have had a tumultuous two days, have we not?”

  Moreham, came forward and scooped her from her bed and carried her through the sitting room into his bedchamber where he sat her on the edge of his bed.

  She watched him disappear into his dressing room. Moreham, no, she refused to think of him the same as everyone else. Her relationship and regard for him was about to take an intimate turn. When he was with her, he would be “James” not Moreham. She would not besmirch their union by calling him Moreham.

  Moreham, dressed in a banyan, returned. The man was beautiful. Gillian struck dumb by his maleness, watched him approach the other side of the bed. She’d never seen a man dressed as he was. The sight of his bare chest stole or her breath. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch him.

  Gillian pushed her desire down and forced herself to look around the room. She needed a moment to gather her wits, otherwise she’d launch herself in his arms. While doing so would give them something to laugh about in the years to come, at the present, he looked as somber as she felt. Apparently, the business of bedding one’s new wife was not a laughing matter.

  Moreham watched his wife as she surveyed his room much as she had the sitting room earlier as if she were trying to ferret out the mysteries of his life.

  “I like your room. Larger than mine but somehow it feels more comfortable.” She offered.

  “I’m gratified that you approve.” Moreham eased his way to his bed. Watching for any sign Gillian was uncomfortable with his presence. If she balked at him joining her, he feared he would expire on the spot. She drew him to her like a moth to a flame. What would his friends think if they knew the tiny lady had snared his attentions so completely? He and his friends spent many hours ridiculing their friends who had been caught in the parson’s mousetrap. The irony was not lost on him.

  Dressed in his banyan and a pair of sleeping pantaloons, Moreham was determined to not alarm his bride. He would do this the right way or die trying. Gillian’s happiness within this room was his only goal.

  Gillian watched him as she lifted the bedcovers and slid next to her. She didn’t utter a sound until his leg touched hers, then she chirped like a little bird. Why he was doing this was a mystery to him. Sleep was not on his mind when he reached out and touched her.

  “As I said before, nothing has to happen that you do not want to,” he said.

  “You find me wanting?”

  The vixen was a danger to them both. He rolled over and pulled her toward him until they were nose to nose.

  “Gillian, I want. I want so much that I am shaking from desire. I also want you to want me just as much. Shall we ease our way into this marriage of ours?”

  Gillian ran a finger over his bottom lip. She looked up into his eyes and smiled that smile he adored. For his sanity, he could never reveal how entranced he was with her.

  Gillian leaned closer and kissed him. “Thank you, James. Good night.”

  With those words she turned her back to him. Within minutes, Gillian was asleep. He was glad she was because–he knew without a doubt he would not.

  He woke up to the caterwauling of a tomcat who most likely was wooing its mate. The drapes were open. From the gray light, it must early dawn. The tweenie would be coming soon to deal with the fireplace.

  A peculiar warmth surrounded him. He looked down and found his newly acquired wife asleep on his chest with his arms wrapped around her. Moreham had no notion how to get her untangled from his embrace. He tried to move away, only to have her snuggle even closer.

  The mantel clock chimed, and he counted five peals. He looked down to find her watching him.

  “Good morning?” she asked.

  “Good morning, Gillian, you are not where you’re supposed to be.” He looked downward and waited.

  The woman fairly jumped back across the wide bed to the far edge. “Uh…no, my apology, I must have done so in my sleep.”

  “Ah, we will have to come up with a solution. ’Tis not done for two people who have known each other for five days to be in such close proximity.”

  “Even if those two people are wed?” Gillian asked.

  He laughed at the absurdity of her question. His wife was more open-minded than he realized. Most innocents, and Gillian was most definitely an innocent, would not be able to have such a conversation without fainting. They were in a bed together. Both needed to rise so they could begin their day.

  At that very moment, persons unknown were plotting to overthrow the king’s government and put Napoleon on the throne after almost a thousand years of sovereign rule, and he was unsure how to remove himself from his bed. The absurdity of their current dilemma was funny. He couldn’t hold back the laughter.

  Gillian leaned over and swatted at his arm. “Stop laughing. This is not funny. I must return to my room and dress so we can leave for Whitings. Before tonight, we must have some rules on how we will go on if we are to share a bed.”

  The arrival of the tweenie to see to their morning fire waylaid further conversation. Gillian’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the young maid. To his delight, his bride wiggled under the bedcovers out of sight.

  He lifted the covers so he could see her. “Gillian, what are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to hide. What will that girl think of us? She’ll tell the servants. How mortifying. Everyone will think we have been doing…well you know what they will think. I can only speculate.”

  “Dearest, Bessie is no different than the tweenie who lights the fire in your bedchamber at Whitney House.”

  Gillian shot him a withering look. “Moreham, there is a huge difference in the tweenie here and the tweenie at Uncle Whitney’s house. Uncle’s tweenie has never come into my room to light the fire and found a man in my bed.”

  The tweenie, like all the members of his household staff was well trained to be invisible. If the girl could hear what they were saying, she’d never give any sign she did. Once the fire was lit and going, the girl left the bedchamber without a backward glance in their direction.

  Moreham agreed with Gillian, the girl would have everyone’s attention at the staff breakfast table this day. He wouldn’t tell Gillian, but having the young girl spout off about the master and his bride in his bed would do much to put down any gossip about their marriage. He couldn’t have asked for a better start to the day.

  “You can come out now,” he said to the lump in the bed.

  Gillian tossed the covers aside and glared at him. “The maid thinks we have done all sorts of naughtiness
in this bed. We will be the topic du jour below stairs. How brides survive the mortification of that assumption by everyone is beyond my comprehension.”

  “Dearest Gillian, husbands and wives have been comporting themselves just so since Adam took a bite of Eve’s apple. Our little maid is scurrying down the back stairs to tell the others the earl’s bride is hiding under the covers. You’ve given Timmie and the staff something to laugh about. Of course, that same tattle will make its way across the square to Philly’s household. Ergo, to my mother.”

  Gillian groaned. “Moreham, you can be so insufferable! Go away so I can return to my bedchamber and dress for the day. You did say you wanted to make an early start this morning.”

  Moreham laughed at her and unfolded himself from his bed. He was rather proud of himself for being so considerate of his wife’s feelings.

  “You are so right, Gillian. We mustn’t tarry this morning. The horses will be at the front door within the hour.”

  “I’ll go first. Once I’m gone you can run for your sanctuary and ring for your maid. She’ll bring you the requisite cup of chocolate and buttered toast.”

  “Is that all I get to break my fast? Chocolate and bread? What about eggs and a rasher of bacon?” She demanded. “I intend to join you in the dining room for a real breakfast?””

  This woman was indeed an anomaly. Even his mother preferred to take a tray in her room.

  “Yes, of course, I never thought ladies ate hearty first thing in the morning. I would enjoy the company. Meet you downstairs in half an hour?” He sketched a low bow and laughed.

  He took his leave but played the scamp by not closing the dressing room door completely. He got quite a show when his wife jumped from his bed with her long legs showing from under her well-worn nightrail. The door closed behind her, leaving him wanting to insist his valet hurry so he could join her in the breakfast room all the sooner. Maybe marriage wasn’t such a trial after all. With the right woman.